


Thirty Years and a Few Hours

by nirejseki



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Age Difference, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mostly Pwp, but with a little plot, spoilers through 1.09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 11:46:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6752647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/nirejseki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mick's looking for some time away from the Legends crew when he meets an extremely familiar young man.</p>
<p>(aka the adult!Mick/teen!Len story that I can't believe I'm the first one to write)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirty Years and a Few Hours

When they get to Central City, circa 1988, Mick ditches the group and heads over to Vercelli’s. It’s a perennially crowded mob-run bar down on the south side that Len’s always hated; he always preferred neighborhood dives like Saints and Sinners instead. Filled with smoky booths for people closing illicit deals, cheap liquor, and waitresses that dressed like they were for sale, Mick figured he could kill a few hours here before anyone noticed he was gone. Hell, they’d probably be relieved; he might be a member of the team again, but they didn’t trust him more than they could throw him, and rightfully so. 

Even Len wouldn’t track him here. 

Mick figured he’d meet up with them late that night before the take-off point – they could waste their time tracking down leads in the archives without him. He brooded over a beer or two for a long while, letting everything fade into white noise around him. A few fights broke out, but for once he felt no urge to join in. 

When he starts getting a little restless, he lifts a half-filled pack of cigarettes from the guy next to him and heads out for a smoke in the alley out back. There’s someone out there already, getting blown by some pro, but Mick’s not squeamish; he’s shared alley space with worse. He breathes out the tobacco smoke, watching the embers at the edge of the cigarette. He always did like them better without filters.

The guy down the alley from him starts really getting into it, calling the pro the usual assortment of names even as his enthusiastic panting fills the air. Mick idly hopes the hooker gets a good tip for putting up with that crap, but he doubts it. That type of john usually believes what they’re saying.

He glances over – pro looks young, male. Hard to tell more in this light. Kid’s probably trying to make rent. Good for him. 

Mick goes back to his cigarette. 

The guy finishes with a piggish grunt and shoves the kid back on his ass, zipping up and walking out of the alley without another word. Mick raises his eyebrows when the hooker doesn’t protest.

“You realize you just got stiffed, right?” he drawls. “Unless you convinced him to pay it all up front.”

The kid snorts and clambers to his feet, head still bowed as he brushes the dirt off the knees of his jeans. “You’re new around here, ain’t ya?” he asks. “That there was Lieutenant Gonzales, head of Vice. He don’t pay at all.”

Mick grunts. Corrupt cops in Central – not exactly the surprise of the century. Still, he finds himself feeling a strange twist in his stomach when he listens to the kid talk. Sympathy, maybe, though he’s never really felt bad for hookers before. The hooker looks about seventeen, maybe eighteen if he’s lucky. Or maybe it’s just that damn Central City accent. “Wanna smoke?” he offers on an impulse, holding one out. 

The kid steps forward into the light to accept. That’s when Mick places him and the weird feeling in his stomach freezes over into horror. 

“Thanks,” Len says with a shy little smile curling his lips. “You got a light?”

Mick automatically fumbles one out of his pocket, holding it out. He’s feeling all out of sorts inside; he’s not sure what he’s feeling, what he’s thinking. Christ, Lenny never told him he used to turn tricks. 

Len’s let his hair grow out a bit at this age, just long enough for it to start curling a little. It makes him look softer, more vulnerable; more than he ever did as the bony little bastard he was in juvie. That’s probably the intent. They smoke companionably for a while; Mick can’t help but keep on stealing glances at the younger man. Len always hated this bar; that’s why he came here, thinking he could guarantee he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew. Now look what happened. 

He’s still stuck on the idea of Lenny turning to selling himself. It’s not that he’s got anything against pros, but _Len_? By juvie time Len was already a pretty sweet pickpocket and his dad took him along on bigger jobs; between those skills and his extreme aversion to being touched, it just doesn’t seem like a natural career choice. 

Almost like he’s listening to Mick’s thoughts, Len skillfully lifts another cigarette from Mick once his is gone. Mick probably wouldn’t have noticed except he knows Len’s tells like the back of his hand; he snorts in amusement and Len looks startled. 

“Good one,” he says and Len relaxes when he sees that Mick isn’t angry. Mick figures that’s as good a segue as any. “Why don’t you just do that for a living instead?”

Len’s lips twist up a little, but not into a smile. “It’s complicated,” he says. 

Mick’s not bright, but he’s not dumb either, not when it comes to his partner. “Lemme guess,” he says, starting to get angry on Len’s behalf. It’s as if everything that happened since 2046, Time Masters and all, has all evaporated in the face of Len’s younger self, who’s too young to know how to hide any of his many tells. “Your dad?”

Len looks surprised again. “Yeah,” he says, clearly too startled to deny it. “He’s got a deal set up with the guys running the joint and in the cops so they look the other way when he fences. My job’s to keep them happy with that deal.” 

Yeah, it’s official; Mick’s pissed. No wonder Len never mentioned it; there’s a world of difference between deciding to get a quick buck on your back and being forced into it. If Mick had ever found out, he would have ended Lewis Snart’s life, right there and then, and never mind all of Len’s stupid lines about it not being worth the first degree murder sentence. It’s almost certainly the same old song and dance as always, with the bastard probably threatening Lisa. Maybe saying that if Len doesn’t do it, she’d have to; that seems his style. Christ, she’d still be in elementary school at this point, wouldn’t she?

“Your dad’s a dick.”

That gets a genuine smile out of Len. “My name’s Len,” he offers.

In the ensuing pause, Mick realizes that he’s supposed to offer his own name. “Uh, I’m Nick,” he blurts out, going with his usual pseudonym when lying low, then mentally tries to kick himself. He probably shouldn’t have picked something so close to his real name to give to Len, even though the fact that he looks up automatically when someone shouts it is the reason he picked it in the first place. 

Len nods. “Nice to meet you,” he says, then shrugs a little, pulls his shoulders back like he’s gearing up for something. “You wanna…?” He gestures a little, but very illustratively. 

Is he _propositioning_ him?

“Kid, if you’re short for the night, I’ll just let you have my wallet,” Mick says, trying not to think about how long it’s been since he and Len have knocked boots. Goddamn time travel; not only does it fuck up a perfectly good partnership, he ends up getting hit on by his husband’s teenage self. 

“No – no, not like that,” Len says, and holy crap, he’s _blushing_. “On the house.”

“You got a crap sense of business, kid,” Mick replies, stalling for time. God, Lenny was beautiful at this age, but then again, he’s beautiful at any age; some temptations a man was not meant to resist and your own goddamn husband asking you out should be one of them. Goddamn time travel. “You should pick up a different career.”

Len smiles up at him, and it’s the same little crooked smile that Len always has when he’s looking up at him, when they’re alone. Like Mick’s the only thing he’s focusing that beautiful brain on. “You don’t have to take me up on it, but I’d appreciate it,” he says, all quiet-like. “I came out tonight looking for someone to fuck me. I’d like it to be you.” He taps at the pocket of his jeans, agile fingers twitching like he’s about to play piano or pull a lift, pulling out a condom. 

“Why me?” Mick asks. How do you even deal with a situation like this? He always had a shitty head for ethics.

Len shrugs. “You remind me of someone I like,” he says. “And it needs to happen before tomorrow, so it’s not like I can track _him_ down.”

“Why before tomorrow?” Mick asks.

“I’m a virgin,” Len tells him. When Mick automatically glances down the alley towards where Len had been thoroughly engaged in definite non-virgin activities, Len rolls his eyes. 

“I’ve never taken it,” he clarifies. “Hands, mouth, that I’ve done plenty of, but nothing further. But tomorrow, my dad’s set up a meet with the regional heads of the local Family, trying to get their backing for a big job he wants to pull, and he’s decided I’m going as the party favor.” Mick starts a little at that, rage filling his stomach and causing his fists to clench in futile anger, but Len shrugs it off, resigned. “I’d been saving it up, you know how it is, but there’s no way I’m getting away with just hands and mouth tomorrow. So I figured I’d try to find someone I pick for it, ‘cause I’ll be damned if my dad gets to sell that too.”

He shrugs and looks up at Mick through his lashes, eyes wide and endlessly blue. “If you’re not interested, it’s fine; I’ll go back inside, see who I can pick up.”

Like _hell_.

Mick knows he shouldn’t be interfering in the timeline, but goddamnit, this is _Lenny_. He doesn’t give a damn who Len lost his virginity to the first time around, he’s not going to risk that it was to some drunk asshole who couldn’t appreciate the gift they were being given. Plus, it’s the late 80s; Mick will never forgive himself if his delaying Len with his cigarettes means he hooks up with the wrong person and dies a few years later in a hospital bed. 

Besides, no matter how pissed he is at Len right now, Len’s _his_. He’ll burn the place down before he knowingly lets someone else touch him.

“There a hotel around here?” he asks. Len looks surprised again – was probably expecting to be turned against the wall – but Mick doesn’t care. Len’s getting the best treatment Mick can give him, the first time they should have had but were too young and crazily eager to manage. 

“Yeah, there’s one down the street, it’s pretty cheap,” Len tells him. “Come on, Nick.”

It’s odd, hearing the wrong name out of Lenny’s mouth. It’s not the sounds – the sounds are all right – it’s the way he says it. Like it’s just a name, not the mix of exasperation and endless fondness that comes through every time the adult Len says his name. 

It takes hearing it said wrong for him to realize that Len never _stopped_ saying his name like that. Something to think about.

Some time when he doesn’t have an eighteen-year-old future husband to deflower. 

Christ, Mick really needs to stop screwing around with all that crap about giving Len a good first time. He means it, he really does, but he’d be lying if the thought of being Len’s first doesn’t get him hot as hell. Thank god for a few decades of experience or he’d be having trouble walking straight already. 

The hotel’s a piece of crap, of course. 

Mick drops the cash on the counter and swipes one of the room keys; the doorman doesn’t so much as blink. They’re barely inside the room when Len’s on him, reaching out for his belt and fumbling when he realizes that Mick’s wearing suspenders instead. Mick laughs a little, his voice gone husky and low even to his own ears. 

“There’s no rush,” he says, and pulls Len in for a kiss, deep and long and full of three decades of affection. Len’s wide-eyed and awestruck when Mick lets him go, which Mick basks in for a minute before gently pushing Len backwards on the bed and kneeling before him, thumbing open his jeans.

Len makes an ungainly, high-pitched whimpering sound, staring at him. 

Mick smirks.

He’s willing to bet that all of Len’s stated experience with hands and mouth, as he’d put it, had been on the giving end so far. Judging from how Len crams his hand into his mouth to try to muffle himself when Mick takes him into his mouth, he’s right. It takes maybe three minutes for Len to start scrabbling at his head, trying to push him back even as his hips hitch helplessly under Mick’s firm grasp. 

“You need – I can’t – much longer – oh god – I’m gonna…”

Mick obliging slides off just long enough to say, with a raspy chuckle, “At your age, I’m sure you can manage more than once tonight. Isn’t that right?”

Len nods dumbly.

“Good. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” he leaned down a little, ran his tongue along the side of Len’s cock even as Len moaned helplessly, jerking up to meet him. “I’m going to get you off with my mouth. Then I’m going to strip you naked as the day you were born, and I’m going to make you forget you ever knew your name. And you’re going to come as many times as I say you do, got it?”

He lowers his head back down and by the time Len’s finished processing that sentence he’s already spasming uncontrollably, coming in Mick’s mouth. Mick’d tease him about that hair trigger, but really, Len’s working at an uncontrollable disadvantage here. Mick knows all of his sure-fire buttons, the things that work when nothing else does.

Just like he knows that Len gets all floaty after his first orgasm, making it easy to strip him down; Len’s not the biggest fan of nudity, most of the time, but Mick wants to see all of him. Mick takes another minutes for his own clothing, knowing that Len is watching him from the bed. 

He lets Len crawl over and wrap those pretty lips around him, twining his fingers through Len’s hair, careful not to pull too hard. There’s a reason Len’s always kept his hair short when he can, and it’s not because he’s got a kink for having it yanked on – though he still purrs like a cat when Mick runs his fingernails lightly over his scalp. The rumbling feels like pure pleasure around his cock.

After nearly thirty years, Mick knows all the secrets of Len’s body and he uses them mercilessly, knows that his nipples don’t do much for him but that kisses along his collarbone drive him nuts; knows that his sides are tickish but that he loves a teasing hand on his belly; knows when Len wants to be held down, loomed over, and when he wants a bit more control. Len’s got no defenses at this age, beautiful as he gasps and swears and groans. Mick likes to think he’s ruining him for everyone who’ll come after.

“Damnit, Nick,” Len finally says, digging his nails into Mick’s shoulders and grinding his hips up against Mick’s as Mick focuses on that spot on his Len’s neck that makes him wild. “I thought I asked you to _fuck me_. We ever – oh, _god_ – getting to the main event?”

Mick hums a little. He’s been prepping Len for a while now so, yeah, they can get to the main event. At this point he’d just been drawing it out, waiting for Len to give up playing nice and get bossy like he always did once he was past a certain point of tolerance. He pushes Len down and reaches for a pillow to slide under Len’s hips. Putting Len on his knees might be easier, but he’ll be damned if he’ll let Len hide that adorable blush he gets in the bedding. He grabs the condom he’d dropped out of his pocket on the side table earlier. 

“Christ, _Nick_ …”

Mick could develop a complex, hearing a name so much like his own whispered in that breathy little moan. He might need to get a whole new set of fake identity papers. 

Len’s face when he slides in for the first time is everything he could have wanted to see, the little flinch of pain easing into curiosity and a hint of pleasure. Mick holds still with a force of will, even though his fingers clench on Len’s hips, leaving light bruises that he knows Len will run his fingers over later. Len bites his lip a little, that same expression of focus he gets on jobs as he experimentally shifts his hips, trying to get an idea of what he likes. 

Luckily for Mick, it’s not long before Len feels comfortable enough to punch him in the shoulder. “C’mon, Nick,” he says goadingly with a smile. “You can do better than that.”

“Watch me be nice to you again,” Mick jokes and leans in for a kiss before he starts moving. 

Watching Len discover how much he loves getting fucked into the mattress is a pleasure, but one that’s a little bittersweet – Mick can’t help but think about the last time he saw the way Len throws his head back when Mick does something right, his neck long and vulnerable as he swallows, the last time he and Len did this: before 2046, before the pirates, before Kronos... he grunts, annoyed at himself, and twists them both until Len is riding him instead.

“Your turn to do some of the work,” he teases as Len catches his hands on Mick’s shoulders. 

“You’re a bit of a prick, Nick, anyone tell you that?” Len replies before getting that wicked little expression of focus on his face as he started to move. Honestly, this version of Len’s not exactly spectacular in bed – mostly just reacting rather than taking the initiative and he’s obviously lacking his usual assortment of tricks – but the fact that it’s _Len_ and his _first time_ adds a frisson of undeniable excitement to the entire affair. This is going in Mick’s top ten, definitely. 

Mick’s got the feeling that whenever he and Len work out their current issues, the time when he tells the adult Len about this encounter is going to hit that top ten list, too. And they _are_ going to make up, just because there’s no way Mick’s going to miss out on that.

The younger Len’s panting above him now, though, whispering profanities and prayers and moans and – 

Wait.

The sounds made by the letter N and the letter M are pretty damn similar, but like all people, Mick’s got an ear for his own name. 

Mick’s hips jerk up a little, one hand sliding up from Len’s hip to stroke at his side. “What was that?” he asked, slight smile bursting forth on his face. “That didn’t sound like my name, not _quite_.”

Oh, look at that, Len’s still got enough blood left free for it to flood his cheeks with embarrassment.

“It’s okay,” Mick says coaxingly. “I don’t mind. You can call me Mick if you’d like.”

“ _Christ_ ,” Len gasps, looking at Mick like he’s some sort of god. “You’re fucking unbelievable. Who the hell even are you?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Mick chuckled darkly. “Now tell me, this Mick you calling out for, he the guy I remind you of?”

“Y-yeah,” Len says. “That’s him.”

“Why don’t you tell me about him, huh?” Mick asks innocently, rocking his hips in just the way he knew Len would like.

“Not much to say,” Len replies, but his hips are already moving faster, his cheeks flushed, his eyes distant. Mick really shouldn’t be getting such a kick out of fucking the younger version of his husband while said husband fantasizes about the younger version of himself, but whatever, he’s left shame behind years ago. 

“There’s got to be something you like about him,” Mick said. “You want to fuck him, right? You’d rather be doing this with him? You can tell me. I won’t be offended.”

“God, yes,” Len says, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “He’s…christ, I don’t even know if he’s straight, and I don’t even care. I’m going to find him as soon as I get enough money for it, the second my little sister’s old enough to watch out for herself.”

“You going to find him?” Mick said, amused; that’s just what happened, Len tracking him down at age nineteen or twenty, though if he recalls correctly Len’s regretted leaving Lisa behind for the rest of his life. “You gonna throw yourself at him, offer to blow him? Maybe tell him he can fuck you?”

That wasn’t how it happened, of course; Mick’d had no idea that Len was interested until one night when they’d been high on adrenaline after their first big score together, enough beer for deniability but not enough to get in the way, and to this day Mick doesn’t remember all the details, just holding Len close and deciding that if the fucker regretted it the next morning, he’d kill him. 

But this Len, lost in fantasy, nods along. “Anything he wants,” he says. Mick can see he’s getting close – third time tonight, which is something even for a teenager – so he slides his hand between them, wrapping it around Len and urging him onwards. “God, _Mick_ ,” Len hisses. “I don’t even care, I swear. I’m gonna find him and he’s going to be _mine_. I’ll take anything he wants to give me, I don’t care what. He can have anything he wants, but once I get him I’m never going to let him leave.”

“You might leave him,” Mick offers, dark memories of that fire or the time in the forest rising up in this head, the latest of many times that Len had left him behind.

He’s expecting this Len to deny it, to be young and idealistic but that’s not what happens. “Maybe,” Len says instead. “I’m shit at relationships; I can’t imagine I won’t freak out.” That wicked smirk spread over his face. He’s not talking to Mick now, not the one in front of him; he’s talking to the one in his head. “But just like this time, I’m always gonna come back for him. Whether it’s juvie or prison or fucking Gotham, I’m not leaving him anywhere I can’t find him again.”

_Like 2046_ , Mick suddenly thinks. An unstable timeline – once the Waverider left, it might just dissolve or break away, never to be accessible again. 

No wonder Len went mad when Mick suggested staying. If he was set on leaving, he had to have known he couldn’t get back.

Didn’t make Len picking his choice over Mick’s, but maybe it made a bit more sense than he’d been giving Len credit for.

The revelation obscures some of what younger Len’s been saying, but Mick’s suddenly lost his patience. He rolls Len down again, fucking in hard and fast and merciless. When he comes, he sees stars. Len’s taken over where Mick’s hand had left off; he comes only a few minutes later, dropping back down on the bed with a sated sigh. 

Mick pulls off, checks him over automatically. Len looks good, even a little happy. So many fewer scars at this age. So many more than he ought to have at this age. 

Len catches him staring and grins lazily. “I’m not going to hold you here,” he says, waving his hand a little. “If you got somewhere to be.”

“Cute,” Mick says, leaning in for a long, lingering kiss before he gets up to start pulling on his clothing. 

“Any chance I’ll see you around?” Len says, a queer note of half-formed hope in his voice. 

Mick hates to disappoint, but: “Sorry, buddy,” he replies. “Not for a while, at any rate. You don’t let that old man of yours get you down, you hear me? He gets what’s coming to him in the end.”

Len snorts in amused disbelief and stretches out a bit on the bed, looking like a piece of art Mick’d love to steal. Pity it’d have ruinous effects on the timeline; Mick’s not going to mess up the last few decades for anything. Mick waits till Len’s eyes are closed to snap a picture with his phone. Not that Len would know what the hell the thing he’s holding in his hand is, anyway. 

He even makes it back to the Waverider in time to meet the others. Rip and Ray just give him disappointed looks when they smell the liquor and smoke and sex on his skin; Sara shoots him a thumbs’ up. Len doesn’t react at all, cold bastard that he is. They’ve never demanded monogamy from each other, anyway, just full disclosure of the highlights and the epic failures. 

In view of that agreement, Mick waits until everyone’s gone to bed to slip to the room Len’s claimed.

Len’s surprised to see him, though he tries to hide it. If Mick looks closely, closer than he’s been bothering to recently, he can see relief there, too.

“Your evening was that good?” Len drawled, turning away a little to strip off his jacket and gloves. “Or that bad?”

“Hey, Lenny,” Mick drawls in return, watching Len’s back go stiff with shock at the use of the familiar nickname. “Tell me the truth – if I ever decided to leave you, leave you for good, you’d kill me, wouldn’t you?”

Len’s shoulders are pulled tight, awkward. “Why do you ask?” he asks.

“That’s not answering my question, Len. Stop misdirecting.”

Len turns and glares. “I thought I made it pretty obvious that I’m not about to kill you,” he says bitterly. “No matter what you do – either in the forest after you sold us out to a bunch of pirates or when you were stuck in the cell after threatening to kill Lisa.”

“What _would_ you do, then?” Mick asked, enjoying this tremendously. “Lock me up and try to talk some sense into me?”

Len hesitates, but yeah, Mick’s got him pegged and Len knows it. “I never said I’d handle it well,” Len mumbles, glancing down and away. “I’ll take anything you want to give me, I don’t care what.”

_Thirty years and a few hours apart_ , Mick thinks to himself, marveling at his husband’s consistent heart. He’s an idiot to have doubted it even for a minute, to have let Rip get under his skin with all this hero crap. 

Mick’s still a bit sore and tired from his exertions earlier in the evening, but the Time Masters supercharged his engine a bit when he was Kronos. He could probably manage another round if he put his mind to it. He can feel his cock twitch a little at the thought – yeah, he’s definitely up for a bit more.

He pulls out his phone and grins wickedly. “You wanna see what I got up to tonight?”

Len looks at him suspiciously for a second, but after a few seconds of scrutinizing Mick, the tension flows out of his shoulders and he steps forward, trust on his face.

Mick reaches out and pulls him in.


End file.
